


Be Cool

by onetiredboy



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Post-Apocalypse, and maybe a little bit attracted to crowley???, aziraphale and crowley are married, aziraphale is an idiot, crowley is even more an idiot, crowley wants to show off his stuff, hastur is so jealous, i just like hastur ok, ineffable husbands, more than maybe a little perhaps, not that hed ever admit it, post-notpocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 10:16:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19788814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetiredboy/pseuds/onetiredboy
Summary: SPOILERS FOR EP6As far as demons go, there’s nothing wrong with being jealous. There’s nothing wrong with being miserable, either, which Hastur definitely was, because he’d always dreamed that having Crowley’s job would somehow transform him instantly into someone just as capable and smooth, and instead at 12pm today a 7 year old child who had been just about to steal some batteries from a store threw them at his face instead, and called him a shithead.What was probably less acceptable, as far as demons were concerned, was standing in front of a mirror in a corner store in London’s SoHo with a pair of large black sunglasses on and posing.In which Crowley runs in to a miserable, completely failing Hastur who just wants to know how Crowley did it; how Crowley got away with sliding into hell once a century with his stupid hips and sultry grin and not doing his job, and ended up fucking off unscathed.





	1. Chapter 1

There were two things in his limited stretch of world that Hastur, Duke of Hell, _really_ hated.

One was the plumbing system in Hell, which was never fixed, and constantly dumped inconsiderate amounts of murky sludge onto important documents.

The second was that gangly-limbed over the top performative _bastard_ of a demon known as Crowley.

The first couple of months after Crowley laughed his way out of Hell after bathing in Holy Water right in front of his eyes, Hastur lived in constant fear. After all, he’d been the one leaving repeated threats against Crowley’s life. He was the one there when Crowley murdered his best and only friend. He was the one starting to spend more time on Earth tripling the number of temptations he had to complete – as far as he was concerned, he was a walking target just waiting for Crowley to come along and exact his revenge.

Then a few months passed. Hastur was spending more time on Earth than ever before, and it was _not_ doing well for his morale. Three times this week, potential corrupted souls had laughed straight in his face. Not only that, but Lord Beelzebub was riding on him to get another five souls by the end of this week.

“ _This is ridiculous,”_ Hastur had tried to argue the last time he was in Hell, _“Crowley didn’t drag five souls to Hell in one week in 6000 years.”_

 _“Crowley,”_ Beelzebub had sneered, “ _Izzz dead.”_

Crowley was not dead, Hastur wanted to say. But he hadn’t, because unlike Crowley, he was not by some freak of nature immune to Holy Water.

The point was that as the fear for his life drained out of him and Hastur found himself further and further run into the ground, he couldn’t help but begin to become wickedly, deeply, irrevocably, disgustingly jealous.

As far as demons go, there’s nothing wrong with being jealous. There’s nothing wrong with being miserable, either, which Hastur definitely was, because he’d always dreamed that having Crowley’s job would somehow transform him instantly into someone just as capable and smooth, and instead at 12pm today a 7 year old child who had been just about to steal some batteries from a store threw them at his face instead, and called him a _shithead_.

What was probably less acceptable, as far as demons were concerned, was standing in front of a mirror in a corner store in London’s SoHo with a pair of large black sunglasses on and posing.

The guy at the counter across the store had been watching Hastur very carefully from the moment he walked in, which Hastur liked, because it meant he looked evil enough to be suspicious, and which Hastur also hated, because it was not helping how stupid he felt.

“Are you going to buy those?” the man asked.

Hastur turned awkwardly towards the counter. He hesitated for a moment, then pointed to himself, “What do you think?”

The man at the counter stared at him.

“I mean—” Hastur cleared his throat, “Do these make me look…” Demons have limits. This was humiliating enough; Hastur was _not_ about to say the word ‘cool’ out loud. “Human enough to fit in?”

The man at the counter opened his mouth for a moment and made a weird choking sound. Hastur was suddenly struck with the realisation that he was definitely going to kill this guy.

The door to the store opened and Hastur turned quickly back to the stand of sunglasses.

“Anthony!” he heard the cashier exclaim joyfully, “How are you?”

“Aditya, my man, it’s so good to see you—” silence fell in the store at miracle-speed.

If Hastur stood still enough…

“ _Hastur?”_

Hastur spun around. It was him. The hair was longer, the sunglasses a little updated, but it was without a doubt _him_.

Crowley stared at him with a slack jaw for a long moment. Then one corner of his mouth quirked up, and the other half followed it a second later, “Are you wearing—?”

Hastur ripped the sunglasses off of his face. They set on fire before they hit the ground. “Crowley!” he shrieked, “Crowley!”

Aditya behind the counter began to reach under the desk, “Anthony, if this guy—"

“Nah, he’s an old friend,” Crowley waved him off, “Yes, good job, that’s my name, Hastur. What on Earth are _you_ doing _here?_ ”

“What am—Oh!” Hastur seethed, “What am _I_ doing—Ever since _you_ got kicked out of Hell, _I’ve_ had to go around this sorry excuse of a planet cleaning up _your_ mess!”

“You’ve…” Crowley snorted, “You’ve got my job.” He laughed, “You’ve got _my_ job! Oh, this is brilliant. How are you liking it, hm?”

Hastur hated him. He hated him so, so much that it hurt. He gritted his teeth, “I promised myself that if I ever see your sorry excuse for a demon hide again—”

“You’ll what, Hastur? Dissscorporate me?” Crowley grinned and held his arms out, “Go on, then. Do it.”

There was a tense pause in the corner store. Hastur’s fingers flexed in and out of a tight fist by his sides. He did nothing. Crowley’s grin widened.

“Exactly. Hey,” he dropped his arms to his sides and sniffed nonchalantly, “Chill out, anyway. There’s no hard feelings left over from all that Hell business, right?”

Hastur stared at Crowley for a long time, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not like I’m exactly jealous of you for having my old gig. We’re not _enemies_ , Hastur, more like old friends. I always thought you were alright, as far as idiot demons go, anyway.”

“You…” Hastur glanced Crowley up and down suspiciously, “You did?”

“Sure,” Crowley shrugged a shoulder, “Like I said, a little short on the brainpower side of the equation, but you at least had half a personality. Not sure I can say the same thing for Lord Beelzebub. If you ask me, I reckon Beelzey landed on their head a little hard in the Fall.”

Hastur felt his mouth move against his will, wobbling into a little smile, “You’re joking,” he said, a statement, not a rebuttal.

“Still struggling with the concept of humour, are we?”

“No,” Hastur said quickly, “It’s a… funny joke. Landed on their head. Knocked the personality out of them. Haha.”

Crowley looked at Hastur with something that looked a little worryingly like pity. For a second, the anger resurfaced its ugly head in the pit of Hastur’s stomach.

“Yeah, well,” Crowley glanced around the shop. “Look, I hoped I’d never see a demon again in my life, but I guess it isn’t bad catching up. I’ve got to get back to—”

“Wait,” Hastur took a step towards him, compelled by some force stronger than his hatred and his pride.

Crowley looked back at him, “Mm?”

Hastur’s stomach revulsed in disgust. “How’d you do it?” he asked, and almost vomited with repulsion at his own words. “How’d you… how’d you get so _damn_ popular?”

Crowley stared at him. “Well, first of all, sunglasses are _my_ thing—”

“Shut up about the sunglasses!” Hastur hissed, “You never saw anything! You don’t understand why—just, it’s not what it looked like.”

“Okay…” Crowley put three fingers of one hand into the pocket of his ridiculous skinny jeans and cocked his hip, staring inquisitorially at Hastur. He tipped his head and his long copper hair fell over one shoulder. It was so unfair, the way he could do that. Be so _damn_ tempting.

“You know what?” Crowley straightened up suddenly, “Do you, Hastur, Duke of Hell, really want tips?”

Hastur stared at him and shrugged his shoulders in a non-committal way.

“Let’s have lunch,” Crowley offered. “I’ll show you around SoHo the proper way. Show you what a _real_ demon does. I’ve always wanted to pass on my knowledge.”

It was probably the worst thing Hastur could possibly imagine. Having to admit that there was a part of Crowley he admired. Being forced to show off just how inadequate he was in comparison. Hastur glanced over at the smouldering sunglasses on the floor.

“Okay,” he said. “Just for an hour or two.”

Crowley grinned, “Brilliant. Come on, then.”

There had been some very odd regular customers that Aditya had dealt with over his life. He’d been running this store for close to ten years, after all, and 24/7 corner stores tended to attract the weird types.

 _They weren’t_ really _from Hell,_ Aditya thought to himself, _Surely not. Must have been some weird kind of nickname system for an old job._

As the door to the store closed, with a little jingle from the overhead bell, Aditya glanced over to his left to see how ruined the sunglasses display was, exactly.

There was no sunglasses display.

“What on Earth…?” Aditya muttered out loud to himself.

 _There’s a reasonable explanation to this_ , he thought. _There must be._

* * *

“Okay Hastur,” Crowley held an arm out across Hastur’s chest, forcing him to come to a stop. “Lesson one. Watch this.”

Hastur stepped back and looked as Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin and a small container of something. Crowley opened the container and squeezed two clear drops of a viscous liquid onto the back of the coin. He glanced around, making sure nobody was watching, and then pressed the coin to the sidewalk.

“What’s that?” Hastur asked nervously, “Will it explode?”

“Satan, no—Hastur, you have really got to catch up. Trust me. 6000 years I spent on this planet and this? This _never_ got old. Come on.”

Crowley began walking towards the café in front of them. He stopped again outside it, pointing to the door, “You see what this says?”

Hastur stared at it for a moment, and frowned, “It says… ‘push’?”

“Right. Now watch this,” Crowley snapped his fingers. The sign changed from PUSH to PULL.

Crowley looked at Hastur and grinned so wide it was almost unnatural, “Right? Get it? Now people will go to PULL,” he grabbed the door handle and tugged, “When it’s actually a PUSH!” Crowley pushed the door open and ushered Hastur inside.

“You spent 6000 years on Earth doing this?” Hastur asked. “And you… you never once got in trouble?”

“Aw, Hastur,” Crowley scoffed, walking them towards a table that was right up against the window looking out onto the street they’d just come in from, “Something you need to learn first up: Hell doesn’t _actually care_ what you do up here, as long as you have something to show for it every now and then.”

“I don’t think it works like that any—”

“Shh! Watch this!” Crowley leaned back in his chair and pointed out the window excitedly.

A human male was approaching the coin that Crowley had pressed down into the sidewalk. The man’s face lit up when he saw it, and he leaned down to pick it up.

“I don’t get it,” Hastur said, “You’re just giving people free mone—”

“Shut up! _Look_!”

Hastur looked. The man was trying to pick up the coin, but it wasn’t moving. It was stuck on the pavement. The man scrambled at it for a moment, then kicked at it. Then he swore and glanced around him, glaring, as if to find the culprits.

“Oh!” Hastur said, “Oh, you’ve stuck it! He can’t pick it up!”

“Well, yes, that’s the—”

“Oh look!” Hastur jumped in his seat excitedly, “Here comes another one!”

The first human had stormed away, and now a woman was approaching the coin. She did the same thing – smiling when she saw it, leaning down, and failing to pick it up.

“Aha!” Hastur laughed, “Hahaha! Idiots! Complete idiots! Hahaha! Look at them!”

Crowley grinned and waved a waiter over to their table. “Two glasses of white, thanks,” he said, and then turned back to Hastur. “See what I mean? Demonic genius.”

They drank the wine and watched more humans try to pick up the coins. Hastur had never had alcohol before, and the sensation it evoked in him was surprising, but nice. After about half an hour, Hastur started expecting something else to happen.

After about an hour, the novelty began to wear off.

“So, uh,” Hastur turned to Crowley, “Is this… it?”

Crowley giggled at a guy who, in the process of leaning over to pick up the coin, had let a little more show than he probably meant to. He glanced back at Hastur and his smile faded, “What?” he asked.

“I mean… is this everything?” Hastur asked.

Crowley looked like Hastur had just hit him. “Alright,” he said, “Fine. You don’t like this?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and pulled out a few coins, slamming them on the table. By the looks of it, his wallet re-filled immediately. “Let’s go.”

Crowley stood up from the table, and Hastur followed behind.

“I didn’t mean to offend—” Hastur started, awkwardly.

“Don’t worry about it, Hastur. I get it, look, it might take you a while to adjust. When you’ve been in Hell for as long as you’ve been, it can take a while to get used to all the great things Earth has to offer.” Crowley gave him a sultry wink, and then turned and walked straight into the glass door.

He stumbled back, looking down at the sign on the door, which clearly read PUSH.

He frowned at it for a moment, before Hastur cleared his throat and nodded towards the sign, which turned back to saying PULL.

“Ah,” Crowley reached for the door with one hand, and nursed his head with the other. “Got to be careful with this kind of thing. Sometimes I get too clever for my own good.”

Crowley walked out of the door.

Hastur was going through a conflict of emotions. Perhaps the knowledge that Crowley had been being so insignificant on Earth for this long, doing the same job that Hastur was now under threat of death to do well at, should have made him extremely angry. But his anger was dampened by a very worrying concern that was creeping up on him.

Crowley, he was beginning to realise, was a bit of an idiot.

_  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Being in Crowley’s Bentley was just as traumatic the second time around as it was the first.

“Slow down!” Hastur shrieked as Crowley swerved a car, “You’ll get us both discorporated!”

“Oh, shut _up_ , Hastur,” Crowley groaned, “I’ve driven this car for ninety years and never once have I been discorporated, And I’ve never once gotten a speeding ticket, but that’s got more to do with the fact I turn every police car’s motor into a—”

“Just—Keep your eyes on the road or you’ll get _me_ discorporated!”

“I’ll make sure of it if you keep shouting like that, Antichrist Almighty.”

Hastur shut his mouth quickly and festered in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest. _He wouldn’t really discorporate me_ , he thought. But he couldn’t be sure. He could never be sure.

“Where are we headed, anyway?” Hastur muttered after enough time had passed that he wasn’t afraid of immediate discorporation.

“We’re going to the park. I’m going to show you what you can do with a bunch of stupid humans and a handful of— _Shit._ ”

Hastur frowned, “A handful of—”

“I left the rakes at the bookshop,” Crowley grumbled, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. “Great. Brilliant. We’re going to have to go past the bookshop.”

“What’s the-AAAGH!” Hastur shrieked as Crowley suddenly pulled on the steering wheel, and the Bentley took a corner on three wheels, “How can you _live_ like this?!”

“It’s the 21st century. If you want to enjoy yourself up here you’ve got to get learning to living fast,” Crowley explained. He sent the car down another few hair-raising turns, then screeched into the curb, almost hitting a young couple.

“Okay, look, just—just stay in the car,” Crowley unbuckled himself.

“I’m not staying anywhere! Where are you going?” Hastur scrambled to get out of the car and heard Crowley swear behind him.

“You’re right, I can’t trust you with the Bentley,” he muttered, “Okay. Look, Hastur, listen,” Crowley took a step onto the curb towards a large bookshop. “Just, promise me something.”

“What’s that?” Hastur asked cautiously.

“Please. _Please_ ,” Crowley pleaded, “Just… be cool.”

He opened the bookstore’s door and walked inside.

“We’re closed!” came a voice from out the back, and a few seconds later Aziraphale appeared from a back room.

“Oh good Lord, Crowley,” he pointed, his eyes bulging, “You’ve got—”

“Company,” Crowley gestured to Hastur. “Don’t worry. I know. Hastur, Aziraphale; Aziraphale, Hastur.”

“ _You,_ ” Hastur snarled, glaring viciously at the angel. He’d heard tell of this angel. He was just as dangerous as Crowley was, if the rumours in Hell were to be believed, and it was his fault as much as Crowley’s that Hastur’s world had been so torn apart.

“Hastur… yes, well…” Aziraphale smiled quickly at him, “I’ve, uh… heard a lot about you. Crowley, can I, um… see you for a moment?”

“’Course, angel,” Crowley turned to Hastur and put both his hands on his shoulders, “Don’t fucking move, Hastur, and whatever you do, don’t touch a _single_ book or God and Satan help me I will not just discorporate you I will send your body back to Hell piece by piece in little brown packages with bows on top.”

“Blasphemous,” Hastur spat, but Crowley had already let go of him and sauntered off into the back room.

Hastur fidgeted nervously with a loose string on his fingerless gloves and glanced around the shop. It was warm, cosy, everything a demon should hate – clearly the resting place of an angel. It had tall shelves lined with old books and a smell like a fireplace in the air. And yet there was something likeable about it – some vague hostility lingering around the books and the cash-register, but also… some form of deep-set evil that had soaked into the wood and pages of the books that made it, just a little bit, like home.

He turned in a slow 360. On the hat stand just visible behind the counter, he could see a black jacket that he recognised immediately. Frenzied, he glanced across the room – there were a pair of cracked sunglasses on a shelf, a pair of snakeskin boots on the floor near the door.

The place reeked, Hastur realised, of Crowley.

“What in Hell is going on here…?” Hastur muttered to himself.

“Hastur! Haven’t bolted, I see,” Crowley sauntered back into the room, looking to all the world as if he was in the middle of putting his sunglasses back on. Hastur tried to lean to see around him.

“Aziraphale’s making you a drink,” Crowley gestured over his shoulder to the back, “Says you need it. Come on, come sit down and let’s talk, hm?”

“I thought we were going to the—”

“Aw, we have time for a little distraction. Not like Hell’s gonna be missing you,” Crowley brushed him off and walked back into the back of the shop.

Hastur wouldn’t say it out loud, but the idea of not getting back into the Bentley again was a good one.

“Crowley,” Hastur called out as he followed, “You have to tell me exactly what is going on here.”

“How do you mean?” Crowley gestured to a worn-out red sofa and sat himself down opposite it in an armchair.

Should’ve made him an incubus, the way he sat, his legs stretched out like he was just daring anyone to take a look.

Hastur looked fiercely away and glared, “This place…” he growled, “There’s something off about it.”

“’T’s probably the Jeffery Archer books,” Crowley leaned back in his armchair and yawned. “So, tell me what Hell’s been like since I left. They miss me?”

Hastur turned back to him, sneering, “Hell thinks you’re _dead_.”

This was a scathing remark. Hell, once Crowley’s home, once the place that cried out his name, meant nothing to him now. It meant he no longer belonged, he no longer would be considered champion, no longer would his horrible deeds be appreciated.

Crowley stretched out like a cat and grinned, “Oh, do they? That’s good.”

And then came the angel Aziraphale, walking into the room with three precariously balanced mugs of something. Two of them were white, with a handle that looked like an angel or demon wing. The third said ‘#1 HUSBAND’ and Aziraphale blushed when he passed it over.

“It’s the last mug I had,” he explained as he put it down in front of Hastur.

Crowley stood up from the armchair he was in suddenly and gestured to it.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I can simply go get another one,” Aziraphale said.

“Sit down, angel,” Crowley gestured to the seat again.

Hastur was one hundred percent certain that no demon in Hell had _ever_ said ‘angel’ the way Crowley said it out loud. And to give up his seat for a being of pure good. It was so scandalous that Hastur paled.

Aziraphale sighed softly, “Thank you, my dear,” he muttered, and sat down where Crowley had just been. Crowley sat himself on the arm of the chair, one of his arms draping back around Aziraphale’s neck, the other holding his mug.

Hastur could not fucking believe it.

“Have a drink,” Aziraphale gestured towards Hastur’s mug, “It’s perfect temperature. A miracle on the house.”

Hastur looked down at his mug. It had a frothy brown liquid in it, and something was bobbing in it. On the surface, little pieces of rainbow candy floated.

“It’s cocoa, Hastur, not poison,” Crowley said.

Hastur glared up at him, and then took a drink of it.

_Oh._

Hastur lifted his mug up, up, tipping it back and letting the warm drink flood his system. It was delicious. It was more than delicious, the whole thing was—it was so… _good._

Hastur was tearing up.

When he put the mug down again, fully empty, Crowley had a half-held back grin on his face. Aziraphale was staring at him, though he looked away quickly when Hastur frowned.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said quickly. He stood up and reached for his mug, “Here, I’ll go get you another one.”

“Oh, don’t do that, just miracle him one, angel—”

“It’s not the same, my dear,” Aziraphale took the mug out of Hastur’s hands and disappeared into a further room out of reach.

There was silence for a moment.

“So…” Hastur said, “This is what you’ve been doing for the last few months?”

“Yup,” Crowley reached up and pulled off his sunglasses, tucking the handle of them into his shirt. His slitted pupils widened and narrowed as he re-adjusted to the light. “Not much different to what I’ve been doing this whole time, really.”

“But—you’re a demon—”

Crowley let out a pained sigh, half-nodding half-shaking his head, “Y-Well-N-Technically,” he said, “But look, Hastur, I was never really… I mean. I barely Fell, really, Lucifer was just a bit of a charmer, talked me into coming along. You know, there’s a lot more to life than just what side you’re on.”

Aziraphale walked back into the room and placed a fresh mug of hot cocoa right down in front of Hastur, and Hastur took it eagerly.

“So,” Aziraphale said, sitting back down in his armchair, “ _Hastur._ Been up to a lot of evil, I suppose. You must be liking it.”

“I…” Hastur felt something horrible building up his throat, words placed in his mouth that belonged to a part of him he hadn’t known existed. “It’s… horrible,” he said.

“Mmgh,” Crowley gave him a sharp nod of agreement.

“But… but it’s meant to be,” Hastur assured himself out loud, ignoring the little look Aziraphale gave him, something close to concern, “I’m a demon. It’s not meant to be _fun._ ”

“Well, that’s hardly right,” Aziraphale assured him, “You can have plenty of fun. Crowley always had fun with it. Didn’t you, dear?”

“’Course, babe.”

“Oh, good Lord, please do _not_ call me that, Crowley. It’s so embarrassing. We’re six-and-a-half-thousand-year-old celestial beings, not human teen males.”

Crowley grinned in equal parts wicked satisfaction and adoration, then turned to Hastur, “’Course, it helped having Aziraphale on my side.”

“On _your_ side! It’s rather more like you were on mine, dear boy.”

“I seem to remember an occasion where two members of the Mafia _mysteriously disappeared_ after threatening your bookshop, angel.”

“That—” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders and drew himself up proudly, “Just because I’m an angel doesn’t mean I have to be a fool. Plus, I seem to remember a certain stow-away on Noah’s ark--”

“Ah,” Crowley lifted a hand, “That doesn’t count. I’ve always had a rule against killing kids, you know that. What about the time you sent a poor man sprawling across the pavement in 1985 after he made a comment about your weight, hm?”

“Well—” Aziraphale cut himself off, then sighed, patting his stomach, “I got carried away with myself. I really didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Crowley said, “I tell you what, angel, you made it difficult for me to hold myself back at the best of times, but I was about one scowl off deciding to sod it all and kiss you right then.”

“Yes, well. I’m still not overlooking the time in 1770 you made sure that street cat ran in the way of that little girl who took it home and adopted it.”

“Shut up, angel.”

“Make me.”

“Oh?”

“Enough!” Hastur was having an existential crisis. Not only was the bickering sickly romantic, but the lust radiating off the angel and demon both at the moment was so vivid and strong it was frankly embarrassing. “I can’t take it!”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked back at Hastur and fell very silent. Aziraphale looked quite embarrassed.

“It’s wrong! It’s all wrong!” Hastur stood up, one hand tearing at his white hair, “There’s good, and there’s evil! And angels are good, and demons are evil. You can’t just—just—you can’t just have angels being evil and demons being good and the two of them falling in _love,_ which isn’t even a-a-a thing _either_ angels or demons should be, even with themselves!”

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a glance. Then Crowley rolled his yellow eyes exaggeratedly and leaned back against the armchair, “For Heaven’s sake.”

“Ahh!” Hastur pointed, “Exactly! It’s all wrong!”

“Oh dear… do take pity on him, Crowley, it took us six thousand years before we got it all figured out.”

“It took _you_ six thousand years,” Crowley grumbled. “I literally Fell because I figured out something was fishy with the whole system.”

Aziraphale stood up from his armchair and stepped towards Hastur, his arms out, “Now, Hastur—”

“Get away from me!” Hastur shrieked, “Get away!”

Then the angel’s hands were on him, and for a moment Hastur decided he’d rather discorporate his own body than spend another _second_ in this place, and then, suddenly, Hastur became very, very calm.

“There,” Aziraphale smiled, “Better?”

Hastur stared at him for a moment. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.

“Right. Go on, sit down and have the rest of your cocoa. It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you here.”

Hastur sat down. The anger and confusion rolling around in him had been entirely disappeared, and in the emptiness that filled him came a deep sadness. He picked up his cocoa and sipped it disappointedly.

“There,” Aziraphale went back to his armchair and sat, “I understand, you know. It’s very confusing at first.”

“Confusing doesn’t even start it,” Hastur croaked. “You have no idea, either of you, what Hell has been like since this whole thing happened. Suddenly Beelzebub has got us demons working three times as hard, and all the while they’re—they’re off with _Gabriel—”_

“Gabriel—” Aziraphale choked.

“Beelzebub—” Crowley glanced at Aziraphale with a slack jaw.

“ _Exactly,”_ Hastur groaned, “They’re meeting every few days, chatting, comparing _notes_ about something I’m not allowed to know about. And Hell is horrible enough to walk around without the risk of running straight into an archangel. The whole point of rebelling was that we’d be pitted against Heaven and their weird way of ruling the world, and I can’t help but feeling like we’ve been roped back in to working _for_ them. The whole thing reeks, and I’ve had enough of it. I gave up _my_ right to all the nice things in Heaven for—for what, exactly? And then I come up here and find that not only is Hell’s previously most-famous demon completely against the idea of good and evil and always has been, he’s also been snogging one of Heaven’s own principalities!”

Hastur looked up at Crowley and Aziraphale to see that they had, for the past minute, been locked in a thrilling conversation consisting purely of facial expressions [1].

“Are _either of you_ listening to me?”

Crowley and Aziraphale sat up straight suddenly and focused back on Hastur.

“Yeah, look, Hastur,” Crowley said quickly, “It takes a while to get used to it. The whole idea that _demon_ and _angel, Heaven_ and _Hell,_ even _good_ and _evil—_ they’re all just words for two different kinds of the same thing. As long as you’re pulling your weight to make a few people miserable every now and then—”

“Crowley—!” Aziraphale interrupted.

“You’re pretty much free to do whatever you like,” Crowley continued over the top of them. “Look. You’ve got a whole world up here to explore. Heaven and Hell have got their own business going on, and if you ask me, the only way to _really_ do the right thing is to take a big step away from it all.”

“But…” Hastur started.

“I don’t expect to convince you,” Crowley shrugged a shoulder, “This is all stuff you’ll learn, one way or another. Just don’t say I didn’t tell you when Heaven and Hell end up teaming up.”

“You don’t think—” Hastur gasped.

“Who knows?”

“It’s a possibility,” Aziraphale said gravely.

They sat in contemplative silence for a moment.

“Well,” Crowley said suddenly, and he leapt up from the arm of the armchair, “As much as it’s fun completely ruining your world like this, Hastur, I suppose we should get back to it. Still wanna go to the park?”

“I…” Hastur stood up quickly, putting his empty mug down on the coffee table, suddenly with an uneasy feeling and a vague memory of Beelzebub’s sneering face in his mind, “I have to get back to work.”

“Ah, that’s disappointing,” Crowley didn’t sound all that disappointed.

“Do feel free to pop in whenever you’re in the area,” Aziraphale said, “There’s plenty of cocoa available at all times. Well. There’s plenty available whenever the shop is open,” he clarified, “The hours are on the front, if you like.”

“Yeah… uh, thank you…” Hastur stumbled, rather disoriented, towards the door.

“I’ll give you a lift if you want?” Crowley followed him out.

“No, no,” Hastur said quickly, “I’m alright.”

“Mind how you go,” Aziraphale called after him.

Then Hastur got his hand on the bookstore handle, and he exited into the cool London air.

Hastur let the door slam closed behind him and breathed for a moment. There must have been something in the cocoa, he reasoned, and something sickly angelic in the air in the shop, that had confused him.

Things were simple. He was a demon. He was evil. Crowley was… _had been_ a demon. He had gotten influenced by Aziraphale, and now neither of them belonged to anything anymore. They had their cocoa, and their comfortable sofas, and their human _love,_ but at least Hastur had—

Hastur had a few more days to figure out how to secure five more souls, or else he had – quite literally – one Hell of a punishment coming for him.

Figuring out whatever had just happened could wait until after he’d gotten out of the clear.

Hastur wandered down the road. About an hour later, he noticed something gleaming on the pavement. He looked down and smiled. Perhaps his luck was beginning to turn.

Hastur leaned down to pick up the coin. It didn’t budge. He scrambled a few more times, before glancing up in frustration and noticing the name of the café he had stopped outside of.

_“Crrrooowwwlleeeeyyy!”_

[1]

Crowley gave Aziraphale a look that said _You don’t think…_

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look that said _Surely not._

Crowley gave Aziraphale a look that said _It just wouldn’t make sense._

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look that said _I guess you never know._

Crowley gave Aziraphale a look that said _But_ really _though?!_ _Beelzebub and Gabriel?!_

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look that said _Look, we’re really not ones to cast judgement here, we did kind of invent the whole star-crossed lovers thing._

Crowley gave Aziraphale a look that said _Okay, you’ve got a point there, but_ still.

Then Crowley gave Aziraphale a look that said _Oh God, I’ve just imagined them kissing,_ and Aziraphale gave him back a look that said _I have no idea what you just imagined but the look you’re giving me makes me think it’s something horri—oh God, I just imagined them kissing_. _That was probably it._


	3. Bonus Scene

The door to the bookshop swung shut viciously and Aziraphale cringed.

“If he damaged a windowpane…”

“That went rather well, if you ask me,” Crowley grinned.

“I suppose,” Aziraphale glanced at him, worried, “I can’t help but feel like all we’ve done is confuse the poor thing. It’s a lot to deal with.”

“He’ll cope.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Crowley laughed.

“What is it?”

“Do you think,” Crowley asked, glancing at Aziraphale, “That we could slowly turn a bunch of the angels and demons that Heaven and Hell send down here to our side? Start a little army of our own?”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale glanced back out at the door where Hastur could be seen wobbling down the sidewalk away down the road. “I suppose you’re right. That kind of is what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

“Brilliant. Do the poor bastard good to get out of that demonic mindset, anyway,” Crowley put both his hands in his pockets and grinned. Then his grin faded for a moment, “What’s that look for?”

“This look,” Aziraphale turned towards Crowley, straightening his tie, “Is the look of someone who is constantly blown away with his husband’s propensity for kindness.”

“I thought you said there was no point in us having a human wedding,” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands in his own, prying them off his tie.

“Yes, but you insisted anyway, so I might as well call you my husband,” Aziraphale said. “Is it true that you almost kissed me in 1985?”

Crowley sighed, “Angel, if I could remember every single time I’ve almost kissed you over the past 6000 years, I’d have no room in my memory for anything else.”

“Well,” Aziraphale smiled, “At least now we get the chance to replace those memories with something nicer.”

And Aziraphale kissed him, and it was soft, sweet, _angelic._ Everything Crowley liked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this little mini-story!! Please consider leaving kudos/comments if you liked it, and check out my other fic!!!


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